


ice like the champagne

by pointsnorth



Category: Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: F/M, like she doesn't pop the champers when she becomes champion like EYOOOOOO, she's legal for drinkin where i come from bru, they're dweebs who bang its great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointsnorth/pseuds/pointsnorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebratory tipple and gropage between friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ice like the champagne

**Author's Note:**

> A little present from me to everyone who enjoyed my last lacewood fic, you dirty-minded sweethearts.

Too many bottles of wine loosen her lips and send blotchy patches of red into his cheeks; they’re both bad drunks, but at least they’re happy. 

"What would your mother say if she saw us?" he titters, swilling the last few dregs of violent red and peeking at her through the nondescript green of the wine bottle. 

"She would…Thooooroughly disapprove, Professor.”

"I am a true professorional!"

That sends them into peals of laughter, clinging helplessly onto each other and gasping for breath. Two floors down, the poor, bewildered receptionist resigns herself to closing the lab early. 

"You’re a true nerd.”

"I am nothing if not a nerd."

She nods sagely at his acquiescence, glad he deigned it correct rather than protest.

"You’re my favourite nerd, though. And a hot one."

"I should hope so!"

While she giggles behind both hands, he manages to pull her halfway into his lap; she only notices (and giggles louder for it) when he plants clumsy, openmouthed kisses on her neck and shoulder.

He might pride himself on being a ladies’ man, but the wine’s certainly dulled that tonight. Not that she minds, of course; not when she’s trying to just as awkwardly sit herself between his knobbly knees without falling straight onto the floor.

Somehow it works out. He daintily slips a hand underneath her skirt, thumb pressed against her clit and fingers lazily tracing shapes she can’t quite guess inside of her; without quite realising, she retaliates in turn by squirming, rubbing frantically against him

"Stop that…"

They don’t remember who exactly says that, but it’s said in that sort of breathy tone that implies the exact opposite of rejection, against each other’s mouths as they shift and arch to share a drunken kiss.

And thoroughly failing. She knocks the wine bottle onto the floor to show her displeasure as he nervously grins against her throat, before moving again to sit sidesaddle on his thighs.

A relief for him, at least; the wine does wonders for his libido, including making things painfully shortlived. 

Once she’s comfortable again, she brazenly (thank you, Dutch courage) spreads her legs enough for him to get the hint and pick up where he’d left off. Her feet jitter uselessly against his thigh as he tips her head back, matches his tongue to the hand furiously working between her legs.

Even though his technique is also marred by the alcohol buzzing in his veins, he still has enough clarity of mind to pull back, let her whimper and moan through the muscle-tensing orgasm she’s riding out.

"You’re off your game," she mumbles as he pulls his hand out and smiles.

"Are you sure?"

"…Okay, you did pretty well for being so blitzed."

"Is that enough for me to have earned your love and adoration?"

"Always, you dork."

The way she snuggles in against him and fits so neatly in his arms is enough to make up for the absolute onesidedness.


End file.
